Paterfamilias
by Zwarte Parel
Summary: Bootstrap Bill Turner visits his wife and young son in Portsmouth. Vignette, complete.


**

Paterfamilias

**  
The tall man swung up the street as if he owned it, with the rolling walk that marked a sailor. He strode with the consciousness that he was better-dressed than most of the men one customarily saw on Portland Road, where the common employment of the dwellers was as dock-laborers. He had had a successful voyage, and with gold in his pocket he had chosen to spend some small part of it on appearing as – not a gentleman, but a successful merchant sailor. That was how they knew William Turner in Portsmouth, and that was how he wished it to remain.  
  
He saw a group of children playing in the street as he neared the house that was his goal, a gaggle of them, mostly half-clothed in the summer's heat. They stopped their game as he passed and whispered curiously together. It had been three years since his last visit here, after all, and even in a port town the community of the street was tight enough for a stranger to be noticed and remarked upon.  
  
The house was as he remembered it. Low lintel on the door, so that he had to duck as he entered, and shabby but clean within. Margaret had always had a knack for arranging a room to its best advantage. She was sitting near the single window, head bent over the garment she was stitching, and looked up in surprise.  
  
"William!" She dropped the sewing and stood as he came and took her in his arms. She was shaking, and he felt a dampness on his shoulder as he held her.  
  
"Sh, sh, love, my Magpie, you knew I would be back," William murmured, stroking her hair.  
  
"It's been so long, so long even since I had a letter from you," she fumbled for her apron and used the corner of it to dry her eyes.  
  
"I'm sorry, love. I found no ship heading for home sooner than I would be myself, these last months." He smiled and kissed her, holding her tight. The kiss was becoming more complex when a draft warned William that the door had been opened again. Next thing he knew there were small fists pounding his thigh, and a treble voice shouting, "Leave her alone!"  
  
William let his wife go and swept the interloper up in his arms, giving him a smacking kiss before thumping him back to the floor. Brown eyes glared at him from underneath an overlong thatch of dark hair, and the boy stood with his hands on his hips, clearly determined to defend his mother's honor.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"Will, this is your father," said Margaret. "Don't you remember him at all? I suppose you were only two the last time he was here. But he's here for a good long time, now, so you'll get better acquainted."  
  
William did not correct his wife's assumption just then; he would tell her tonight that if he were to be there a month, it was the most she could expect. He knelt on one knee to look his son in the eye.  
  
"I am pleased to make your acquaintance," he said gravely, extending a sun-browned hand that engulfed the small one he shook.  
  
The distrustful look on the boy's face faded a little at the courtesy, though he still looked at his mother for reassurance that he should believe this stranger to be his father.  
  
"Go on with you two, then," Margaret told them. "I must finish this sewing today or I'll lose Mistress Jenkins's business."  
  
Although William would have preferred to tell her to forget her work, he knew that she would never agree. A strong sense of duty, had Margaret, and with himself away most of the time, she needed to keep her clientele happy. Resigned, he stood and kissed her again. Pulling out a cloth bag that clinked as he dropped it on the table, he glanced down at Will. "Come, Will. I daren't make your mother angry at me so soon, so you can show me all your favorite places, eh?"  
  
The boy nodded shyly, allowing his father to steer him out of the house.  
  
"We'll be back for supper, Margaret," William called back through the doorway. "Now. Where shall we go?"  
  
To William's not-very-great surprise, his son led him first to the shops, walking especially slowly past the displays of dried fruits. He took the hint and handed over a few pence for a handful of raisins, and a few more for a twist of paper filled with bits of candied ginger to take back for Margaret tonight.  
  
"Thank you," said Will without being prompted, and William nodded approvingly.  
  
"What do you like to do, Will?" he asked.  
  
"Play with my friends." The boy's face screwed up, thinking. "Go walking with Mama; she takes me down to see the ships sometimes."  
  
"Shall we go there now?"  
  
"Can I see your ship?"  
  
"My ship isn't in Portsmouth," William answered carefully. "I took another to come here to see you and your mother. But we can go look anyway."  
  
The cries of seagulls swooping around the rigging of the vessels mingled with the shouts of men directing the placement of cargo, loading and unloading, hauling great barrels and bales off to warehouses and bringing back new merchandise to go off to the West Indies. Automatically William dodged around a file of men carrying a timber evidently intended as a replacement mast, his hand on his son's shoulder to pull him out of the way. They wandered the docks for some time, William patiently answering the little boy's questions about what everything he saw was and how it worked.  
  
"Mama doesn't know as much as you do," he remarked.  
  
"Not the same things," corrected William. "Your mother knows much more than I of other matters."  
  
Will seemed to chew that idea over, giving a sharp jerk of his head as he accepted it. "How do you know so much?"  
  
"Seeing a good bit of the world, mostly. And reading some, too. Lots of things to learn out of books," he said. At the wistful expression on his son's face, he added, "Do you want to learn how to read?"  
  
"Oh, _yes_. Charley up the street can read and he shows off all the time. I want to read too, so he can't show off to me anymore."  
  
"I'll learn you your letters, then, before I go. And we'll see about putting you in a dame school, or some such." William squinted up at the sky. "It's nearly suppertime – we'd best get along home."  
  
***  
  
Margaret was ready for them when they arrived. She had finished in time for Mistress Jenkins's arrival, and bought a nice piece of neck of mutton to boil for their meal, along with a head of cabbage. Sliced bread sat on its proper dish on the table, and William saw a cloth-covered bowl that he was nearly certain held cherries. He suppressed a smile. Margaret had remembered his favorite fruit.  
  
She said the grace, William and Will chiming in with "Amen" at the end. Young Will was respectfully silent through the meal, listening to his parents talk together. William brought out the candied ginger at the end of it, and lifted a piece to Margaret's lips. Her eyes were on his as she nibbled, their dark depths promising delights to come later.  
  
He waited until after they had made love to tell her that he could stay only a few weeks. She wept, turning away from him, and when he made as if to hold her, lay rigid in his arms until he desisted.  
  
"Margaret, love," he said at last, when her quiet sobs had ceased, "my own Magpie, you knew what it was to marry a sailor. If I'm here, I'm not earning."  
  
"You could do something else – work for a ship-builder, or some such," she said. "Don't you want to stay and be a father to your son, even if you don't want to be a husband to your wife?"  
  
William ignored the spiteful tone, knowing it came only from the night's anger. "It would be no good, love. I couldn't stand to be away from the sea for long." He laughed a little. "At that I'm not near so daft as one man I've sailed with. I'd swear he thinks the ship his lover, and him only an ordinary seaman, not even a mate."  
  
"That's something," Margaret sniffed. "At least I'm not going to be ousted from my husband's affections by a heap of sodden timbers."  
  
"Of course not." William slipped an arm around her shoulders, and this time she responded, leaning her head against him. "You saw, I've a goodly sum to leave you with this time, and a good chance that the next voyage will be even better. We'll take part of it and find Will some schooling. He's a quick mind; we might see him a clerk, or even a scholar someday. You've done well teaching him his manners and he's shaping to be a fine lad. I promised him he'd learn his letters from me before I left, and that will give him a start. All right, my girl?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
"Now then, give us a kiss."  
  
***  
  
True to his word, William spent the next several weeks making arrangements for his family. He spoke with a moneylender and put half of the gold he had brought back on deposit with the man.  
  
"But William, he's a Jew," said Margaret, worried.  
  
"If the Lord Protector thought it all right to have dealings with them, who am I to say otherwise?" returned William. "Aaron seemed trustworthy enough to me."  
  
He also spent hours with Will down on the shore, drawing letters on the damp sand until the lad could recognize and recite them all. "That's my boy," he praised him, ruffling the dark hair. "Now when you go to the dame school you'll be a step ahead of the others."  
  
Will smiled at his father; then, unexpectedly, threw his arms around him in a hug.  
  
"There, now," said William, hugging him back.  
  
"Why do you have to leave?"  
  
"To earn my living," said William gravely. "I'm a sailor, that's our bread and butter. Wouldn't be much of a sailor if I stayed on land all the time, would I?"  
  
A head shake.  
  
"It doesn't mean that I don't wish I could be with you and your mother more of the time. But that's how it is. I hope I'll be able to come back sooner on my next voyage, but it's not up to me, it's up to my captain, you see. Now." He tipped the boy's head up. "I want you to be a good boy and help your mother, aye? You're big enough now to do that."  
  
"Yes, father," said Will proudly, small shoulders squaring.  
  
"Good lad. Now, we'll go buy your primer and you'll be set to go to school. When I come back from my next voyage, I'll expect you to show me how well you can read."  
  
"I will. I'll read better than Charley," Will promised.  
  
***  
  
He put his coat on with a mixture of reluctance and anticipation. It would be good to get back to sea, but every time he had to leave Margaret behind he found the parting more wrenching. And young Will, too; now that the boy had grown a bit, he found himself unexpectedly fond of his only child. He hoped that he would be a better father than his own had been.  
  
Margaret had cooked kippers for his breakfast. William ate them with relish, savoring every bite, mopping up the last bits with a piece of bread. "Can't get bread like this at sea," he commented. "Makes a man appreciate it more at home."  
  
Young Will was poking desultorily at his porridge, his face unhappy. William shook his head, but said nothing. There was nothing new to say. What had to be, had to be, and the boy had better learn that now.  
  
He stood and swung his canvas back to his back. He bent down to hug his son, then held his wife for long minutes before stepping out into the street. He walked quickly and did not look back. It would never do for them to see William Turner with tears in his eyes.  
  



End file.
